


Discipline

by LaT, Viridian5



Category: Andromeda
Genre: Banter, Humor, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-30
Updated: 2001-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:58:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaT/pseuds/LaT, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper really asks for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Kass provided helpful suggestions and goaded us on, especially when we got stuck....

As a person and the last High Guard captain, Dylan often found himself struggling to figure out the difference between the things he could change and the things he couldn’t. But some things he wouldn’t change even if he had the ability to, among them, Harper’s tendency to use his body as his personal playground.

Such as right now, when he had Harper, King of the Mountain, straddling him and toying with his nipples. Then Harper grinned and exclaimed, "Cool, handles!" which just about killed Dylan.

Harper watched him with highly exaggerated seriousness and waited him out as he writhed with laughter, then said, "No, really. We could put rings through these--"

" _We_?"

"You get the rings put in while I watch with possessive pride. Then I use them. Thus, we."

"Wouldn’t that _hurt_?"

"No. I’m really light. You’d barely feel it." 

Not at all what he meant, and Harper knew it, but Dylan kept on. "If I got something like that, you’d never stop playing with them. You know it."

"You say that like it would be a bad thing."

"Staring at them even when I’m dressed--"

"Trying to see if I can make out the lumps under your uniform jacket, instead of just staring at your chest for fun. Yeah, yeah. Still waiting for the bad thing here." 

"Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of twisted? In the good way, but still...." 

Harper smirked. "You know, it’s cute how naïve you are at the advanced age of, what, 520?"

"342, thank you, and you know it."

"At the advanced age of ancientness, and you still have this big innocence to you." Harper chucked his chin. "Don’t ever change, D." 

"I don’t think I need to say to you that you’re about to get the spanking of your life."

"And you call _me_ twisted?" 

"I can’t share all my secrets up front, Harper. Where’s the fun in that?"

"You promise to put me over your knee?" Harper’s eyes suddenly had a feral, anticipatory gleam.

"How do I know that would be worth my while?"

"I’ve been told that it’s a pretty good view."

"‘Humility,’ thy name is Seamus Harper." 

"Humility’s boring." Harper looked down and traced light, casual lines along Dylan’s cock. "C’mon, _play_ with me...." 

"In both senses of the term?" It came out breathier than he wanted it to, almost as a gasp.

"In as many senses of the term as you can handle."

"It’s been a while for me, you know, so I hope you’ve had a lot of Sparky today. Because you’re going to need your energy."

"I have energy to _spare_. Trust me, I can take you."

"Only if I let you, Harper, only if I let you. And so far, you haven’t really done much to convince me that I should."

"Oh, well, I think I can rectify that."

"Tough talk for someone I’ll be bending over my _knee_."

"Yeah, but that’s because I _asked_ you to, and you haven’t even done it yet, so c’mon." Harper manhandled him, though he didn’t fight much, until he sat on the edge of the bed. Harper then draped himself over Dylan’s lap, ass in the air. "There. Do I have to hold your wrist now and make your hand spank me too?"

Dylan briefly found himself at a loss for words. All that pale, pert flesh offered up to him.... Finally, he managed, "I think you want this too much."

Harper wiggled enticingly. "So?"

"It stops being discipline or punishment then."

"You could try to discipline me--and good luck with that--or you could have a good time right along with me. You’re a smart guy usually, Dylan."

As Dylan stroked down the curve of Harper’s spine, he smiled at the way Harper shivered under his fingers and the way the shivering rubbed at his cock. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"Stupid? Nah. Slow, maybe...."

Harper jumped when Dylan slapped his ass. It had been a light slap, but Dylan had put his wrist into it, and it made a surprisingly loud cracking sound and a red mark on all that pale skin. "Faster than you thought, maybe?" Dylan asked.

"I let you get that one in."

The second slap made Harper gasp and writhe, and it stung Dylan’s hand a little. All the movement did wonders for his erection. He could feel heat rising from the skin under his palm.

He couldn’t believe Harper was letting him do this. No, even more than that, asking for it. "What about that one?" 

"Same thing. C’mon, is that the best you can do?" As Harper asked the question, voice tinged with hints of playful challenge, he looked over his shoulder at Dylan, the dare plain in the glint of his eyes and the curve of his smile. He wriggled against Dylan again for further emphasis, not even entertaining notions of fair play.

Two could play that game.

"Like I said, I can’t reveal all my secrets at once, Harper. Otherwise, you’d get easily bored and throw me over for the next High Guard captain that came along. We both know you have a thing for the uniform." He kept his voice light and deliberately slid his hand back up to the nape of Harper’s neck, fingertips stroking a gentle but firm tattoo through the close-cropped hair there. It amazed him sometimes, the way even Harper’s hair was so responsive, seeming to stroke him in return.

"Only the blue and black, and the red and khaki. Your dress uniform sucks rocks. It looks like it was designed by someone color-blind _and_ doing a bad hit of Flash." Harper’s voice sounded like it had dropped an octave or two, and his rubbing against Dylan felt more insistent. Dylan didn’t mind. He kept petting Harper’s hair, and if that induced lots of writhing and rubbing against him, it was a small price to pay for the appropriate level of distraction.

"Everyone’s a critic." His own voice sounded deeper to his ears, but he soldiered on, almost ready. "But you’re right, loath as I am to admit that under the circumstances. The design shows a definite lack of, well, _sense_ , but mine was not to question why, mine was but to...."

"Wear or die? C’mon, D, you’re all about fighting the good fight. You should have staged a protest or something. High Guard Officers Against Bad Clothing Design." Harper sounded like he was warming to the subject, all set to unleash a barrage of no-doubt colorful insults to formal High Guard attire, and at another time and place, Dylan might pause and be offended. He felt Harper draw a breath for the upcoming mini-rant, and that’s when he brought his hand down, putting his wrist into it again, but with even more snap. He felt the slap as much as he heard it this time, and when Harper arched, letting out a long, loud moan as he did, Dylan knew _that_ one hadn’t been expected at all. He should have been appalled at himself for being so pleased about that.

He wasn’t. "How was that?" He traced patterns across Harper’s reddened skin.

"You call that spanking?" Harper panted. And rocked on Dylan’s lap, though Dylan would be damned if he’d tell him to keep on doing that. "Spank _ing_. It means you keep doing it. So far you keep stopping for breaks. I’m worried about your stamina."

"You’re not sure if my stamina is up to the task?"

"I don’t know how you guys did this stuff in the old days...."

"In the _old days_ , we brought a zest and zeal to our discipline that these decadent times can’t even begin to understand."

Harper shivered gratifyingly, but his voice remained steady and impudent as he asked, "Well, where is it, then? I’m waiting here. I’m falling asleep. I’m beginning to think that High Guard discipline is overrated."

"Have you just insulted the High Guard?" Dylan made his voice dark and dangerous and pressed a little harder as he traced the insignia into Harper’s ass.

Harper breathed deeply. "Why? What will it get me if I did?"

Sometimes a point could be better proven by illustration than talk. Dylan put one hand on the back of Harper’s neck, stroking but firmly keeping Harper’s head down, and reached for the slick with his other. As expected, a stream of complaints flowed at the inability to see what he was up to but stopped once he put the slick down to stroke and fondle Harper’s hard, dripping cock, which twitched against his caressing fingers.

"This is what it’ll get me?" Harper moaned, then yelped, "Ow!" as Dylan smacked his ass again. 

"Of course. High Guard discipline is an art, Harper." Dylan smoothed his hand over the area he’d just hit, the flesh beneath his palm heated and flushed. "You’ve seen our weapons, so this concept can’t be that much of a surprise to you."

"You think that’ll shut me up? You have no-- oh, yeah."

It had taken ingenuity, but Dylan had mastered the art of slicking up his fingers one-handed years ago. You never knew what you’d be called upon to do in field conditions. It all depended on careful and skillful manipulation of the tube. He could field-strip a rifle or slick up and penetrate a comrade in seconds. Harper was so ready for him that he’d stroked two fingers in on his first try. 

"Our force lances should have been your first clue." 

At that, Harper wiggled closer, which shouldn’t have been humanly possible but somehow, he managed. "You really do use them as dildos? Ow!"

Dylan had no intention of answering. Let Harper think what Harper wanted to think. It was more fun that way. 

Dylan had to maintain the High Guard mystique, after all.

Harper had taken to stroking one hand across Dylan’s leg. Probably an effort of some kind at distraction, but Dylan could be ruthlessly focused when need be. And right now, he was focused on making Harper see the error of his High Guard-taunting ways. Granted, it was what Harper _wanted_ him to do, but relationships were all about give and take. 

This time Dylan thrust three fingers in and fought back a groan as Harper pushed back against them and rubbed himself against Dylan’s cock. Trying to speed things up, which wouldn’t do at all. He pressed down on the back of Harper’s neck again to control him, gaining him a breathy and heartfelt "Oh, man." That changed to needy whimpers as he started to thrust them hard and deep, establishing a rhythm... and then pulling out for another stinging smack. 

Harper used some curse words Dylan had never heard even in his decades of military service.

"Was that even _Common_ , or are you swearing at me in Perseid? Because that may mean more of this," and Dylan administered another sharp, stinging slap, "and less of this...." He slid his fingers back in, smooth as he pleased, and just in the way Harper moved against him, Dylan could tell he was caught in an elemental dilemma: pleasure proper or pleasure mixed with a little bit of pain?

Harper wiggled purposefully, perhaps trying to think, and Dylan idly stroked the blond peach fuzz beneath his fingers, focusing down hard to prevent himself from going off, because the pulse pounding through Harper’s neck matched his. And because his cock was so hard right now that it alone might be enough to hold Harper up off the floor. It looked like this would be self-discipline too. 

So be it. "Do you have an answer, Harper?"

Harper gasped, "Bite me."

All in due time, Seamus, Dylan thought. He withdrew his fingers with a swift, economical movement that made Harper whimper, and this time, the slap landed on Harper’s previously neglected other cheek. Dylan felt the tingle as far up as his shoulder.

Harper practically purred his next insult. "You know, this is really doing nothing to keep my image of you as this amazing bad-ass firmly in place. I guess it’ll be hard to keep up my swing when I’m older than dirt, too."

If Harper could still get complete sentences out, let alone insults.... Dylan laid down a short but harder barrage, varying the angle, strength, and rhythm of the slaps so Harper would have no idea what was coming next or when. Then for a few minutes he did nothing but watch Harper pant, sweat, shake, and try to hump air, since their positioning left nothing for Harper to rub his cock against. Dylan’s hand stung and burned, though with nowhere near the reactor heat of Harper’s ass. Dylan had to focus clinically on the heat, because he was about to lose his mind, and he really wanted Harper to go first.

Harper bucked and muttered things under his breath when Dylan started to use his fingers again. And retaliated by stroking Dylan’s inner thigh, his hand creeping ever inward.

That was it. Harper yelped as Dylan picked him up, turned him around, and fell back onto the bed with him, but he quickly got the idea. What little remained of Dylan’s brain wondered if Harper had been readied well enough, but the easy upward slide of his cock as Harper impaled himself on it drove any lingering doubts out of his mind. Drove everything else out of his mind too, buried it under the heat and friction wrapping his cock and the almost greater heat of Harper’s ass against his balls. 

Harper expertly rode Dylan’s frantic thrusts, though he had his palms on Dylan’s chest, over his nipples, to help him keep his balance. Shaking, he kept talking, but it sounded more like an incoherent crooning, with mainly "yes" and Dylan’s name rising from the babble. The sight of Harper sweating, exultant, reduced to incoherence as he straddled him broke the last of Dylan’s control. Orgasm ripped loose from him, sharp-edged and blinding. In his last spasm, he grabbed hold of Harper’s cock, and his touch alone seemed to be all that Harper needed.

Dylan came to with Harper seemingly melted across his chest. Panting, quivering a little, Harper looked up at him with a feral grin and gasped, "So... what would you do to me if I got really nasty?"

 

### End


End file.
